


Butterfly Under Glass

by FemailoftheSpecies



Series: The Scourge of Europe [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FemailoftheSpecies/pseuds/FemailoftheSpecies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She watched him change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly Under Glass

_“Watch where you’re going!”_

Rough and grumbling, raked over deep and smooth, his voice rang in her head as he stomped pass her little family. Angry, hurt, resplendent, he was, as she turned to watch, her own eyes full of the future.

In lucid moments, which weren’t as uncommon as she led the others to believe, she often wondered why God had seen fit to give her the gift of the sight. Once she considered it a curse, but now it was a present for one as thrillingly damned as she. Since nothing surprised God, surely He had known what she would become and how her talents would be used, yet still she benefited from the visions in unlife just as she had been tormented by them while alive. There was no apparent difference in accuracy or frequency. 

As she followed him with her eyes, while speaking to her sire, she understood the why. All events conspired so that she could find her prince. Next week, there would be another all encompassing reason. Such was the simplicity of her world. 

Darla made a rude comment as was her way and Angelus, her unruly puppet, laughed as was his. But Drusilla was miles away, her prey in her sights; she was engulfed by scent and sound. Fussing with her gloves for a moment, she was pleased that her Daddy was going on with his sire and not waiting for her. Tonight she would not be denied her prize.

His brightness led her to him. That was how she remembered it even though she used her vampiric senses and nothing else. But then Drusilla always did like to make the retelling more intriguing. He was sitting on a bale of hay, in sweet misery like icing on her cake, as he tore into the papers that weren’t the hateful people. But, oh, how he wished they were.

_“And I wonder…what possible catastrophe came crashing down from Heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?”_

He was aloof and even inconsiderate, but there was no fear, not really. He should have feared. Words were exchanged. Their banter was not poetic, but she pulled what she needed from his poetic heart and offered it to him brilliantly.

_“I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something…effulgent.”_ She gasped.

He nodded slightly when she asked if he wanted it, so very taken with her understanding of him.

_“Oh yes…God yes.”_

 

~~~~*~~~~

 

He had never had a proper burial. She did it herself, laughing and humming as she tossed the dirt over his coffin-less form. Coming back the next night and waiting, her deep burgundy dress wet from the grass dew, she sat by his grave. And she was so excited, singing to herself as the stars told her about this bright and shining warrior. Her mood could not be dampened, not even by the nosy grave-watcher, whom she eventually ate when she grew tired of his prowling about.

After midnight, the soft dirt broke in front of her, revealing the pale hand of her first childe, still soft from a life of culture and easier living She squealed her joy and her eyes were the first things he saw in a world made new by the demon inside. He was her brand new vampire baby. Her head tilted to the side and she pulled his name from the air without trying.

_“I’m afraid we were never properly introduced, my William,”_ Her voice greeted him like bells tinkering in the soft breeze as he crawled the few feet to her, shaking dirt from his hair along the way. He pressed his lips to hers, growling in her mouth when she deepened the kiss. This was all the introduction that he required.

He pulled back from her, suddenly ashamed of his behavior, a remnant of human propriety eating at him out of habit for a moment. Upon realizing he was oddly unconcerned, he pushed her onto her back in the dirt, raising her skirts until he found…home.

 

~~~~*~~~~

 

He had the vague impression that he was changing. Uninhibited sex with a stranger who was no more strange to him than his right hand had been his first clue.

As was the undeniable lust for the blood in her veins, in the veins of every living person they crossed.

He was flying, like he never had in life, but then in life he never had wings. 

Drusilla…her name was Drusilla. The delicacy of it, of her, left him trembling and a century later she still had the same effect on him. He called her his dark Goddess, his ripe, wicked Plum. They ran through the streets of London for three nights, and despite what the world believes, she taught him well.

And he was the ever-enthused pupil, eager and quick. His instincts for the kill were finely honed, making her quiver with need for him.

She taught him how to please her and how to be pleased as well and they fucked in their dinner’s blood, laughing and kissing, biting and free.

He was amazingly certain that he had changed.

 

End


End file.
